Today, I was once again told by someone that they thought I was in my teens. And in this society, that is viewed as a compliment. But to me, it is felt as a sting. A disregard to the years of growth I have lived through, the wisdom I have fought for. The lessons I have learned and unlearned.

When so many, through accident or choice, do not live as long or long past my age, I am glad, and feel blessed to still be here, fighting for a better world, making connections where I can, hopefully leaving people knowing how deeply I love them.

I am not ashamed to be given the privilege of growing older. Perhaps many feel a pang of dread of getting older because of the immense pressure to perform productivity, to “make something” of their life, to be remembered long term. Striving for something most will not achieve. I don’t know. But to me, aging is simply a gift. More time to find more love between other humans and with the world around me.

I want to be seen as someone who has lived and grown and continues to grow. Someone who has overcome caring so goddamn much about and wasting too much mental energy over what this physical body looks like and instead embraces it. Uses it and my ever expansive mind to reach out into the world and connect. My wrinkles are beautiful. Signs of listening and reacting and feeling everything so deeply. My soft belly from carrying life within me. My grey hairs, sparkling in the sun. These things only make me more beautiful and just like my brain, my outside is ever changing and I hope I continue to give every iteration the deep reverence it deserves.